Atlas
by ClassyMuse
Summary: He came all this way, across the ocean, to meet the man in the faded Polaroid picture. He wasn't asking for love or approval. All he wanted was for them to know that the other existed.
1. Part 1: Atlas Chapter 1

2028 a.d.

Andrew thought it was funny that the day he would leave for America it would be a beautiful day; sunshine, rainbows, and the non-tourist laden establishments booming with cheers and good vibes. He never felt like he truly belonged here, but he gave it a shot for his mother and his girlfriend. Andrew never saw himself attending Holy Trinity and moving a few hours away from his tiny family, but at his girlfriend's insistence he did and took up a humanities study with a focus in genealogy.

He didn't know how to pack for a trip across the pond, but Hannah had some experience from a family trip to Hawaii when she was younger and helped him pack accordingly. She knew how to pack for weather (early spring and chilly), worst case scenarios (security checks), being stuck in airports (that happened everywhere), and even helped him with the legal formalities including visas and insurances. Andrew would have just bought a plane ticket and went along his way, but he was going to be stateside for at least three weeks. From the some of the research he did America wasn't much different from Ireland, but it he was going to be thrusted into the culture he mocked the drunken tourists for.

Hannah, although supportive of him, was hesitant about the trip. His mother didn't approve of it either, but Andrew was too curious for his own good.

As Andrew gathered a few more things around his apartment he stopped by his dresser and pulled open the sock drawer. That was where he kept the faded Polaroid picture. Until he attended primary school it was just a picture of his mother from when she was younger, on a study trip in the United States, and the man was what she insisted was a friend. The bottom white strip had a name and a date, Dean Winchester, 2007. For years Andrew accepted what his mother told him, but the kids at school picked on him and insulted his mother. Yeah, he knew he had no father around. He was fine with that because that was all he needed. Andrew would defend his mother, Carolynn, until he gave his last breath.

He didn't care about the fact that he had no father around until he was learning international geography and the class made snide remarks about the USA. When Andrew asked his best friend Edward about it his world was turned upside down.

With this trip he hoped his world would be balanced. He had a name, he had a picture, now he was going to finally meet the man that his mother hid from him. It wasn't intentional, but it was the last thing Carolynn wanted to deal with while raising a son on her own.

Hannah returned to their shared apartment with news that Andrew's cab had arrived. Andrew was going to get on a plane for the first time and to a place that wasn't Ireland.

They rode together all the way to Dublin International. Hannah voiced her concerns all the way. "Are you sure he is even alive?"

Andrew shrugged, "Even if he isn't I think I should at least meet a relative. I don't have many of those, Hannah."

"I know, but you know nothing about this man other that what your mum told you, which wasn't much to begin with."

"I know that." He hated having these conversations with Hannah. She would never understand, he thought. She had a family, she things he didn't. It wasn't that Andrew wasn't grateful to his mother, that was far from the truth, but he felt a part of him was missing when he was told the truth. "You wanna talk about how I am a product of a one-night stand too?"

"No, not at all. I'm just saying that this is kind of risky. You're going there by yourself to meet a man that as we have found out was declared dead at least three times, was wanted by the FBI, and was missing for a year too. I think I have a right to worry."

This was all true. When Andrew was fifteen and learned the truth about his origins he started digging around. Carolynn was positive that Dean was his father, the timing was just right. She went out for one last hurrah with her study abroad classmates and remembered waking up to a green-eyed beauty the next morning and a Polaroid tucked into her jeans. The further he dug into Dean Winchester's history he was horrified and intrigued. He knew he had an uncle from prison records that he paid a hacker to find. The crimes ranged from grave desecration, murder, a few dozen counts of assault, arson, robbery, all kinds of fraud, officer impersonation, and enough traffic violations to have their own filing unit. He never told his mother about these crimes. He was afraid it would make her feel bad. Andrew watched for patterns of everything. The fact that he was declared dead more than once and vanished for a year is what threw him off. How does one do that and manage to stay in the same country? Something was suspicious and Andrew got curious.

He had a lot of sleepless nights when he had down time, and a lot of heavy telephone bills from calling people with connections around US. Most of them lead to dead ends and people believing that Dean and his brother, Andrew's uncle, Sam were dead. The people he talked to on the phone and emailed had more good things to say about them, heroic things, than bad. There was more to this man in the picture than Hannah gave her boyfriend credit for.

The trip had the possibility of being dangerous, but Andrew was willing to take the risk. He wasn't about to live his life without at least meeting him. He kissed Hannah goodbye at the security check and moved through the huge airport. He got on his plane with little nerves and a little bit of Jameson in his blood.

Andrew flew through the night and landed first in Philidelphia, then caught his connecting flight to Topeka. From there he navigated with ease to catch a bus to Lebenon, where a man named Garth said he could be found. Garth redirected him to a woman named Charlie who gave him the exact coordinates and promised to inform Dean's brother Sam that he would be arriving. Andrew asked that Charlie would not have Sam give Dean any warning fearing the possibility that his father could run. He didn't know what to expect but he hoped for the best and prepared for the worst. Thankfully there was a motel not far from his destination. He regretted at the moment he found the motel that he didn't find a proper sleeping establishment, but this was America, and he was going to make do. He dropped off his stuff and started walking, not caring about how tired he was from traveling.

Andrew was nervous and the anxiety grew as made his way up the hill to the door in the ground. Charlie told him in an email that Sam would be expecting him and to not be taken back by his new uncle's height, and despite what he read about his father, that there was nothing to be scared of.

Andrew's first thought when he reached his destination was that his family must have been a few nuts that believed the world was going to end, so they built a shelter underground and lived in it full time. This was nuts, he thought. Hannah was right.

But those thoughts didn't stop Andrew from knocking on the heavy door. He gave it about a minute before the door squeaked open a crack. There was a very tall and gray man behind it. Andrew assumed that was his uncle.

"Can I help you with something, son?" He sounded beaten and tired.

Andrew cleared his throat, "Uh, yeah. I am here to see Dean Winchester."

"Who isn't?" he scoffed.

"Did Charlie Bradbury send you my message?"

"Pertaining to what?"

"Uh, that I may be your nephew?"

The door opened further, but Andrew backed up from it when he saw the silver knife in the man's hand. "You're the Andrew kid, from Ireland, right?"

Andrew nodded unable to pull his sight from the weapon.

The man held out his hand, "I'm Sam. More than likely your uncle from the look of you."

Andrew returned to gesture and shook his uncle's hand. "I guess it is a pleasure, judging from the knife in your hand."

Sam didn't pull his weapon back. "Just some old school paranoia, kid."

Andrew nodded and swallowed, "Nothing to worry about here."

"If you only knew." Sam took Andrew's hand and quickly ran the silver blade across one of his finger tips. Andrew swore at the sting, but all was forgotten when Sam opened the door further to let his nephew in.

/ / /

Sam made sure that this twenty-something sitting in front of him in their kitchen wasn't a demon or an angel. Andrew seemed polite enough, but it was the fact that he was Irish was what threw Sam off. It didn't seem very likely, but then again, this was Dean's son in-question, and with Dean (despite his age) anything was possible.

Sam got a few basic's out of him. His name was Andrew McDaniel from Dublin, he had a girl in his life, and he was a student when he was working in the warehouse district to support himself. Sam carefully questioned if Andrew had any supernatural experiences to which his possible nephew scoffed at the idea. If only this kid knew. Andrew didn't ask much about Sam. He was still carefully guarded in case they would later find out they weren't related. While Carolynn was positive, Andrew wanted to be totally sure and purchased a few at-home tests. Sam didn't object, but based on look alone there were some undeniable traces of Dean there, particularly in the shaped of his face. "So where is my father now?" Andrew asked.

Sam sighed, "He should be wrapping up his physical therapy now." He looked at his watch, "Should be home any minute actually." Sam poured a little more Jack into his and Andrew's glass. "So do you want me to help you out with this?"

Andrew nodded, "I think it would be a good idea since it would be a little jarring to have the first thing you see in a protected underground fortress was a total stranger." At least Andrew had a sense of humor, thank god.

After a few more silent minutes of trying to read each other Sam heard the door open. Sam got up, "Just hang out here a sec."

**I guess I am going to start a new fic, because I can, but this one has been bugging me for weeks. Let me know what you think.**


	2. Chapter 2

Sam knew his brother well enough that Dean didn't take to well to strangers in their residence, motel, bunker, or otherwise. It was better for Andrew to stay out of his sight until Sam had a chance to prepare Dean for this surprise guest.

Dean was a little more on edge than usual when he got home form his latest stint of physical therapy. He knew as he got older he wouldn't be able to bounce back as fast as he used; No doubt that he wanted to forget about his latest fiasco involving stairs and a poltergeist (which he was stupid and blocked his fall with his left hand), but bouncing back was becoming a real pain in the ass these days. Who knew that getting functionality of his wrist back was going to take a month? Dean just wanted to be done and over and move on to a case before he got stir crazy. Plus the black brace wrapped around his wrist was really itchy.

Just as he walked in he moved to the path of the kitchen, and met Sam before he could even got to the doorway.

"Hey, we need to talk about something," Sam started.

Dean nodded, knowing full well that Sam was up to something but humored him anyway. "Okay, but first food. I haven't eaten yet today." He tried to push through Sam.

"No, Dean, we need to talk about this right now."

"And we can talk over food. The ability to multitask is what separates us from the animals, Sam."

"Not right now, Dean." Sam was getting serious.

Dean sighed, "Alright whatever you were cooking in there I promise I won't laugh, but we have actual edible contents in there and I will make do."

"Will you just shut up and do what I ask?"

Now Sam was serious and Dean did listen, "Alright, I gotcha. Do I need to sit down for this?"

Sam shrugged, "Probably."

They went into the library and sat facing each other, "What's going on, Sammy?"

"What do you remember about that year before you went to Hell?"

No, we are not revisting those years, he thought. "Enough. Depends on what you are asking about."

"Okay, other than us trying and failing to get you out and the whole blonde Ruby thing, like your extracurricular activities between all that?"

"What you mean like…" Dean waved his hand in the air to get Sam to say what he knew his little brother meant to say. He knew of course, but it was still funny to make Sam feel uncomfortable about that subject.

"The double mint twins." Sam grumbled. "And the like."

Dean smiled at those memories. Despite that whole year being part of a near-decade of turmoil and his impending Pit stop, he did get quite a few good lays in. "Oh Sammy, you are such a pervert."

"This is serious, Dean."

"Okay sure," Dean chuckled. "What is there to know?"

"Do you remember any of those girls not being American?"

Dean thought about it. Dean wasn't picky about girls when it came to ethnicity. He was pretty open and even stated in his later years that _it's not the size, Sammy, it's about how you use it. _"I mean there may have been two girls, but that was a long time ago. Do you know something? Did she miraculously track me down and is stalking me?" That was Dean, playing it off with humor. The only bad thing going on in his mind was that there was a possibility that he caught something, but after Hell his body came back a clean slate. No worries there for him.

"No, but that is why I kind of needed to talk to you now, because I know how you are around strangers."

Dean sat up straight, "What is it, and don't play Twenty Questions, just give it to me straight."

"You have a son. The timeline is pretty accurate and he has some of your traits. He is sitting the kitchen right now."

Dean didn't question. He got up and strode across the bunker to the kitchen. Seeing was believing. He had his suspicions about Ben all those years ago, but that was a long time ago and he wasn't ready to go through that all over again. He pushed open the door with a force and stared down at a sandy-brown haired twenty-something sitting at the table, eating his food. The kid stopped what he was doing and stood up slowly. He looked just as shocked as Dean was right now. They didn't speak for about a minute, but they just stared at each other, taking in each other's existence. "You're my son?" Dean asked first.

The kid nodded, "It's extremely possible."

Dean took in his accent and recounted the memories of 2007. There was one time in Maryland, while taking time off between cases, Dean swung by a college bar…The memory faded in and out but he did remember a threesome with some foreign students. They did say that they were leaving the very next day. It did make sense, but an old memory at Dean's age wasn't something he alone could go off of.

/ / /

It had been an awkward few hours. Dean and Andrew had moved from the kitchen to the lounge to talk. Sam gave them their space but was within earshot.

They didn't talk much until the first hour was about over when they got past the formalities. Andrew explained how he tracked his father down, how it took years based on arrest records and strange phone calls with people with whom he felt were rather sketchy. Dean didn't respond to much of that. He knew what was going on when Andrew brought up a certain incident, including Leviathan posing as him and his brother. He wanted to clarify them, just to give this kid a redeeming quality about the man he didn't truly know existed, but it seemed that Andrew wouldn't believe in the world of the supernatural.

Every so often Dean went back into his mind, crafting the right kind of questions that wouldn't hurt his case with his extremely possible spawn. The kid looked like he was a mental wreck anyway.

"So what about you?" he asked.

Andrew shrugged, "What about me?"

"I mean we have been talking about how you found me and how you got here, but I want to hear about just you. What do you do? Do you go to school? Got a girl?"

Andrew wasn't entirely sure how to answer it. There was no doubt that Dean was his father, but he still felt the need to keep a little distance just in case. However it would have been rude to not acquiesce to Dean's questions. "Uh well I do go to school, at Trinity in Dublin. At the moment I am in genealogy, but I don't know, I might change it. I work a bit to pay the bills but I figure get started now while I'm young and not get fucked when I get done with my education. And yes, I do have a girl." Andrew pulled out his phone from his pocket and pulled up a picture of Hannah to show Dean. Dean took in the sight and couldn't help but be proud that the Winchester way with women was still alive and well. "She is way out of your league, man," he joked.

"Yeah, that is what my mum says too. But she likes her and that is what counts. Hannah keeps me on my toes and keeps me grounded while I get her to lighten up a little."

"You need that, kid," Dean replied. "You need someone to balance you out. Trust me on that."  
"Okay."

They sat in silence a little longer. Dean was at least satisfied that Andrew didn't turn out to be a screwed up kid and was building his own, safe life. That still didn't make him want to ask about what his childhood was like. "So what about your mom."

Andrew's mother was a sensitive subject. As a kid he knew that his mother was a little bit ashamed of having a child out of a one-night stand abroad, especially with how the other parents and teachers talked, and he kind of resented his mother for not letting him know about his father, but as he got older he had a whole different point of view on the situation. They got closer as he got older, he appreciated Carolynn for doing the impossible on her own, and realized that it was never a bad childhood. It could have been a whole lot worse. "She is doing fine, yeah."

"I mean it couldn't have been easy-" Dean tried to say

"Yeah well she did it."

"I know I probably have her my phone number, she could have told me."

"And then what would you have done?" Conversations like this pissed Andrew off. Andrew wasn't raised with much, but what they had was enough. He didn't want pity, but he wanted the world to know that he didn't need much to begin with. He and his mother were strong. "I asked her once why she didn't, and at first she gave you the excuse that you were here in America and it would have been rather impractical. Another time I asked and she said it wouldn't have proved anything other than you felt obligated."

Dean nodded. "Kid I don't mean to sound like an asshole, but it still would have been better if I stayed out of your life to begin with."

Andrew nodded, "See I don't understand that logic at all, but if it makes sense to you then I guess you have your reasons."

"What did you expect of me?" Dean asked. He usually didn't care what people thought of him, but this was the exception.

Andrew shrugged, "At first I pictured you in one of those suburbs in that Weeds show my mum loved to watch, minus the drug use, but the whole house and family thing, you know. The further I dug though I pictured you in actual prison with tattoos and scars. I sure as hell didn't picture this."

"You're not even remotely worried that your father is classified as a serial killer with a few legal documents saying I was dead."

"Can't say I wasn't, but there was something in me saying it wasn't true."

"So now the final question, Why did you come all this way?"

Andrew gave a small smile, which at the moment made him Dean's spitting image. He stood up and grabbed his coat from the chair, "Look, I didn't come all this way for money if that is what you are worried about. I also didn't come all this way for your love or your approval. I came all this way to know…actually for us both to know that the other exists."

Dean nodded in affirmation, even if what Andrew did have a little sting. "At least let us put you up until you go back home."

"That's fine, I got a motel in town."

"Dude, I know that motel in town and have been to too many in my lifetime. That is the place you pay by the hour. Just get your stuff and come back here and we'll figure out getting you back to Ireland."

**Thanks to ChickieG for the review and anyone who is giving this thing a chance. I am officially done with school so now I can write and read for fun again! Per the usual, job hunting with an English degree sucks and so does working two retail jobs, but somehow I think I will be just fine. It may take a while, like my updates, but I am optimistic. Reviews would be nice so I can make you guys happy. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Holy crap, the response to this fic has been awesome! Thank you to everyone who has shown their support for "Atlas". I didn't think it would amount to anything really, but it was a plot bunny that kept bugging me while I stood at the register and wrote down on extra receipt tape. Also, today is my 23****rd**** so as a gift to you I am posting a new chapter! Confetti, it's a parade!**

Dean drove Andrew down to the motel that sure enough was pay-by-the-hour to have him check out and bring his stuff back to the bunker. While they were in town they both swung by a local clinic to inquire about some DNA testing. Sure enough the processing would take about three days if they dropped by tomorrow which is what the receptionist told them both. Andrew was eager however and pointed out that he had a home test to which she scoffed at. Those few minutes in the clinic were the most awkward for the both of them.

The drive back was mostly in silence. Dean attempted to use the time to get to know Andrew better but was slightly disappointed to find out that Andrew didn't know much about cars, at least American. Any possible bonding experience over the Impala was declared dead on arrival.

Once they arrived at the bunker the three of them retreated into their own spaces. Andrew declared one of the spare rooms his, noticing it hadn't been used at least recently. There was no way he could sleep at the moment. Part of it was the insomnia that plagued him when he was a teenager, part of it was the circadian rhythms being screwed up from the air travel, and the other part of it was his struggle to take it all the day's events in. Today was the day he had waited for since he was a kid and he had these moments created in his head, mostly fantasies, and he was disappointed. Today wasn't what he thought it would be. He thought there would have been an instant connection. He knew Dean was at least trying, but he was definitely holding something back. Sam, an uncle he didn't even think about in the equation, was the exact same way.

Andrew resolved himself to not make any travel decisions until the DNA results would come back. Worst case scenario was that it would take a week which he had three to spare. He would give Dean some of this time if he chose to do what his mother suggested; see the country a little, be spontaneous, but don't be stupid. Andrew opened his laptop on the dusty desk and was pleased to find an instant internet connection. He sent Hannah a quick message and hoped she would get it despite the time difference. It was ten at night which meant in Ireland it would be a very early morning for Hannah. Andrew knew what he was getting into and continued to send his love a request to Skype.

After a few dials tones he saw Hannah's tired face. She was sitting in their bed in their apartment wearing one of his shirts with her hair tied up into a bun. She seemed happy to see him, but aggravated at his timing. "You suck so much right now. I don't need to be up for work for a few more hours," she jokingly grumbled.

Andrew chuckled, "Well I love you too, but I just wanted to see you is all."

"Mm, well you see this hot mess everyday so I don't know why this couldn't wait a few more hours when I was a little less mess."

Andrew shrugged. "If I didn't love this mess, why would I call her up?"

Hannah smiled, "So how is it going so far? Have you found him yet?"

Andrew nodded.

"Already?!"

"Yeah."

"So how did it go? Where has he been? What did you have to talk about?"

"He's been in the middle of nowhere this whole time it seems. Kansas isn't the most exciting place in the world. We haven't talked much. It's just been really weird, ya know? I mean I had this whole thing played out in my head and…I mean, it just wasn't what I though it would be like I imagined. I did find out I have an uncle though."

Hannah nodded listening to every word her boyfriend said. "So what are they like?"

"I don't know how to explain it, but they seem really guarded about their lives. I understand why, but I guess I haven't tried to work with them either. It's like they have seen some shit."

"Well what did you expect? You knew they had a past. It's in their records for christ's sake."

"Sure, but it's a different kind of shit, you know what I mean?"

"Not really, but I will give you the benefit of the doubt."

Andrew nodded. Hannah could see that he was about to go off into his own world, back into his mind. She loved that he was contemplative like that, but she was careful to not let him go too far into his own thoughts. He had a tendency to get worked up easily if he did. "So tell me about The States. Is like all the jokes and the tourists we make fun of?"

/ / /

It was midnight when Hannah finished the call and left Andrew still awake. Andrew left the room to do a little exploring of the bunker. The place was stuck in the nineteen twenties, but it felt oddly fresh. Everything was so polished and sophisticated. There were amazing antiques every where including a sword that didn't look dull. Old school weapons hung on the walls with pride but only a few looked like they had any real use in recent years. What really drew Andrew's attention was the library.

It was massive, that was for sure. Andrew loved to read, always did. He preferred to do it on his own terms which was why he was struggling with finding any joy while reading for classes. All the books he was staring at were old, very old. There were a handful that judging from the spines were at least a few hundred years old and belonged in a museum. Out of curiosity he pulled out a book and started flipping through the pages. It was about ghosts with some recent notes in the margins. He put that one back and pulled out another book. The book looked like it had a few pages ripped out and carefully put back together with tape, and those pages also had notes in the margins. The book was about the importance of silver in a satanic ritual. "Well that's just creepy," he mumbled to himself. He set that book aside and pulled out another one that looked like it was read recently. A page fell out of that same book that was mostly written in Arabic. The page had notes of course, but it also had a gritty finger print in the upper left hand corner. Andrew looked at it closely and realized it was actually old blood on the pages. Andrew dropped the book and started to put some puzzle pieces together.

It started to make sense, the records and all, the links and tips to ritualistic practices associated with the charges, it all came together. Now Andrew was starting to panic. The book dropping must have made a loud enough noise to tip off the bunker's residents, because Sam appeared in the large doorway. "You okay?" he asked nonchalantly.

Andrew turned to face him and started backing up, then he went for the sword. "What they hell are you guys?" he asked.

Sam raised his hands in surrender seeing that Andrew was thinking with fear in mind. "Okay, just listen. We can talk about this, the three of us. You are safe here, okay?"

"Then explain the books, the blood on the pages, explain to me why this along with your rap sheets make this look like you two are actually satanic serial killers!" Andrew's voiced grew louder as he asserted his refusal to go down without a fights.

Sam dropped his hands and scoffed, "That is surprising the first time I have heard that one. It's not what you think. You just need to calm down and we can talk about this."

"Is that what you told all those people you killed?"

Dean appeared out of the other side of the room. "What the hell is going on?" He took notice of Andrew standing in the middle of the room with the sword in his hands. He saw the look of fear in his eyes. "Andrew, put the blade down," he said calmly.

"I'm not going to let you kill me."

"No one is killing no one here. Not now and not ever. We aren't going to hurt you."

Something clicked in Andrew's mind and he lowered the sword however he refused to come down from his protective stance. "Then what are you going to do?"

"Just give us a chance to explain what you saw and what you should know."

"Should I know that I am son of a satanic serial killer?"

Dean shrugged, "That's a first."

"Don't mock me." Andrew didn't let his stare down with Dean go, but it gave Sam a chance to get close enough to hit a pressure point that knocked Andrew out cold.

The brother's looked down at the collapsed form on the floor. "There is no way we are going to keep the family business away from him is there?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. "Nope, but the least we can do is keep him away from the trick of the trade." He knelt down and picked the sword up from Andrew's limp hand carefully placing it back on the mantle a few feet away.

/ / /

Andrew woke up back in the lounge to the sight of Sam and Dean sitting across from him, each with their own glass of scotch in hand. "About time you snapped out of it, sleeping beauty."

Andrew backed up further into the couch. "I'm not going to let you kill me."

"Okay seriously, a serial killer doesn't let the prize have a choice. I figured you would learn that from television at least. Also, if we wanted to kill you we would have already."

Andrew calmed down a little but maintained his guard. "Then explain the rituals. Why I am not tied down in some kind of dungeon with torches and weird markings on my body?"

"Well truthfully, the dungeon is kind of an inconvenience to haul your ass down with one good hand. Dude, it's way more complicated than that," Dean answered sarcastically.

Andrew eyed the two of them suspiciously. That was Sam's cue to talk. "Andrew, remember when we talked about believing in the paranormal in our bit of small talk earlier today?"

Andrew nodded.

"Okay, I actually asked because there is something we do, something our family has a long history of doing. Call it a family business, but it was definitely something we didn't want you to start messing with if you got interested. It's more to do with your safety and the security of your normal life than anything."

"Just get to the part where it's all supposed to make me feel better," Andrew snarled.

Dean picked up another glass and poured the liquor for Andrew. Andrew eyed it suspiciously. Dean ignored the look and said, "We're hunters."

He had no clue what that meant.

"You might want to start drinking, because what we are about to tell you is going to be a lot to process."

**Just let me know what you think. I love all the reviews and you guys make this all possible.**


	4. Chapter 4

**The response to this thing has been incredible and I am so grateful to all of you for favorite-ing, following, reviewing, and even sending me messages about it. It gives me all the good feels. You guys make me want to update more frequently or as much as my muse allows. She can be a real bitch sometimes, ask those who followed me over in Batman land.**

Andrew listened very closely to his family members tell their tale. It started off with tragedy, about how his grandmother died and the previous legacy behind that. From there on he had to hear about everything. The fact that monsters and ghosts, demons and angels, witches and vampires existed was already a bit of a pseudo culture shock to Andrew, but that fact that there was a culture fighting it that had no happy ending just made the tragedy drag on. He had to hear about family and friends dying, the world ending, their vices, their sacrifices, and for what?

Andrew finished his third glass of liquor and sighed taking it all in, "Well, if it means anything. Thank you, from the world who didn't know your kind existed. Saving the world repeatedly, no wonder this is so messed up."

Dean nodded, "It's just what we have always done." He watched Andrew pour himself another. It wasn't that he should care if people found solace with a bottle in their hand, the family did for years, but if there was one specific part of the Winchester Legacy he didn't want to continue was aggressive alcoholism. "You sure you're okay?"

Andrew scoffed, "I just found out about my supposed family legacy of hunting and death. I'm not running for the looney bin so all things considered I'm just peachy."

Sam got up and took the glasses and bottle back from his nephew, "You're doing just a little too fine."

"Yeah, what do you expect," he snapped. He stopped himself for a moment, thinking about what to say next. He knew that he wasn't exactly blessed with hollow legs and the first thing on his mind was to express his anger about his parentage, but he had just met his paternal family a mere eighteen hours ago. "So what do you do now?"

Sam left the room leaving Dean alone, again. "What do you mean?"

"Let's face it, you both aren't spring chickens. If it is such a dangerous life, especially after all you have done and been through, what exactly do you do now?"

Dean attempted to lighten the mood, "Dude, I'm not even over the hill, we're still saving people."

Andrew pointed at Dean's left hand, "Riiight."

He rolled his eyes, "Okay, we just aren't hunting as frequently."

Sam returned and sat down next to his brother, "We're just picking up the slack as far as research and security. In order to do what we do you have to jump through a lot of hoops and ladders to get the hunt done right."

"Including legal hoops and ladders, right?"

They both shrugged.

Andrew got up and started pacing around. "Well that makes sense. So from what I understand, people just knowing you can get into some paranormal trouble, but those who don't do too?"

"In this life there is no clear winner," Sam answered. "You just prepare for the worst."

"Everything I knew about the world now is wrong, but it's started to make sense and, to be honest, I'm a little freaked out by it. Why did you tell me all this?"

Dean stood up, "It wasn't the best option, but you had to know. Knowing is half the battle."

"Dean, the kid probably doesn't get that reference," Sam interrupted.

Andrew shouted, "No I don't, so if it has something to do with this life, please do enlighten me!"

"Okay, calm down kid," Dean said. "If you didn't know, you put yourself in danger because you don't know the ways to be safe-"

"I was safe!"

"Okay, I get that, but you're very possibly related to me, in fact I don't know how I know but I do know that you're my son, so you not knowing would eventually get you and everyone you loved killed. Now that you know about this legacy you have a leg up on staying ahead of the bad guys."

Andrew shook his head. "I don't want to be a hunter. I have a life, I have a girl, I have a family back home. I can't just up and leave them."

"You won't have to, Andrew. You will know how to avoid anything if it comes your way and know how to protect yourself, and who to call, and how to handle things without being noticed. I don't want you to be a hunter. This is the life we chose and there is no way I am thrusting you into it."

"Then what about Legacy? You throw that word around with a mix of disgust and pride."

"It's going to stop with me and Sammy. That was something we made a choice about a long, long time ago."

Andrew nodded. "Then what's next then?"

Dean shrugged, "Tomorrow, or really later today, we start teaching you a few things."

/ / /

Andrew struggled to catch any consistent moments of real sleep as the early morning wore on. At least there wasn't any sunlight to peek through and mock him. Andrew looked at this phone and read the clock: four thirteen in the morning. "Fuck," he muttered. He got a sense that there was going to be a lot of bookwork soon, which is what he hoped for. He knew from the glimpses of the books that weaponry was another study he was going to be acquainted with. Weaponry he understood. Caroline had dated a former soldier who taught him basic gun handling and safety. He learned how to be handy with a small knife at an early age much against his mother's chagrin, but it was a general pocketknife. What good was that compared to what he would learn from Dean and Sam?

He found his iPod and hoped that the sounds of Imagine Dragons would help pull him to sleep. Just as he laid back and flipped the switch he blinked and saw a man standing in his doorway.

He was Sam or Dean. Too shirt, too young, and a little too creepy. He walked up to Andrew and he found that he make himself move. What. The. Fuck. "Who are you?" he asked.

"My name is Castiel."

Andrew knew that name from the tale Dean and Sam told him a few hours ago. the problem was could Andrew trust this angel. Then it hit Andrew that he was looking at an actual angel. This was an angel that helped saved the world numerous times, made a lot of mistakes, was God for a while, then disappeared to Heaven only to make rare appearances to Sam and Dean in their later years. "Okay."

Castiel didn't move from where he was standing. "It's good to meet you in person, at least in a way that you are aware of me."

"'Aware'?"

"I have made a few excursions to watch over you as you grew up."

"Oh, so I had an angel stalker. Wow."

Castiel smiled, "You are definitely Dean's son."

Andrew sat up in his bed, "Yes, because…"

"Andrew, I am a celestial being. I just know things. Honestly you would be wasting your time going to be tested in the next few hours."

Andrew was very suspicious of this Angel in his room. "Celestial or not, I believe in science. I believe in what I can see in front of me."

Castiel stepped closer to him, "You don't even believe in what is standing in front of you?"

Andrew sighed, "Look it has been a long fucking day and night. I had a lot to take in. For all I know my judgement is seriously fucked from the day and those two men are actually crazy. Perhaps you are just a figment of my imagination."

Castiel pulled out his smaller angel blade and quickly grazed the tip against Andrew's exposed arm. Andrew hissed and cursed, "What the fuck is up with you people and blades?"

The angel smirked, "Now do you believe what you see?"

Andrew shook his head, "Okay, fine you're real. Everything they told me was in fact true. Why are you here, being creepy and stalker-ish?"

"I know for a fact that the Winchester gene pool has a tendency to hate any waste of their time so I thought I would spare you the trip to confirm your paternity. You are Dean's son and I know you both can feel it. They are also my friends and the very men who have repeatedly saved the world. You need to show them some respect." The angel turned and started to walk away. "If you really listened to their life's story you would know I am also very powerful, and just because I am very busy with the reformation of Heaven, it doesn't mean that I am not watching."

Andrew heard the flutter of large wings and watch Castiel disappear into thin air.

The threat of Castiel returning if he wasn't care hung in the air making it much harder to fall asleep. Andrew was wide awake now and stared at the small cut on his arm. There was a part of him that wanted him to tell Dean that he was visited by an angel, but there was that part that didn't want any attention drawn to him. He figured that would keep him safe.

/ / /

Sam was up early. While their lives had slowed down it seemed that sleep would never catch up to them. Dean had his moments of all night activities, but they were farther and fewer in between. Sam always had difficulty sleeping, but he was resolved about it. He was surprised to see Andrew standing in the doorway, dressed for another day. "Coffee?" Sam offered.

Andrew nodded, "Absolutely." He took the coffee pot and poured himself a fair amount that hinted to Sam that Andrew was trying to stay awake.

"Take it you didn't sleep well."

Andrew thought of a lie to reason with. "Jet lag is a bitch. Hopefully that will be resolved by early this evening."

"Alright I guess."

Andrew looked around, "Dean isn't up yet?"

"No, not yet, he won't rise for another half hour give or take." He stared at his nephew a little while he downed the coffee like it was water. "You sure you're okay?"

Andrew nodded, "Yeah, just preparing myself for another day of books is all. Just like university."

**I didn't know what I was doing here, but I needed to get some filler to prepare for what is next, which is a little more filler, but it will get better, I promise. Happy Labor Day! Unless you work retail or service like me. In that case, stick together and remember that we get holiday pay. Yay more money.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey all! Sorry I'm updating so sporadically. Lately it has been a bitch to find the energy when dealing with two part-time jobs, hunting for a real full-time job, and if all else fails getting promoted at one of the part-timers just to get out of a bad (sexual/gender discrimination) situation at the other. Yay, real life.**

**I am also writing this as my landlord is trying to fix my broken water heater because dammit, cold showers bring back bad summer camp memories.**

**Here it is, chapter five!**

He watched as Sam pulled a dozen or so selected books from various shelves around the expansive library. Sam also pulled a few beaten up books from a drawer to the side as well that looked like pages had been ripped out and had a few more added in with different colors and notes. Sam carefully picked them out in the categories of monster types and then by language. Ghosts, witches, werewolves, demons, angels, and vampires. At least two books of each, no more than five. Sam knew everything else by heart, but for a noobie, it was best to stick to the basics. Andrew eyed the stacks on the table. "I know you guys are old and everything, but don't you believe in Sparknotes?"

Sam chuckled, "How old do you really think we are? Kid, I was in college when Sparknotes became a thing. I bet you don't even know what LexusNexus was?"

"Christ, you are old." Andrew smiled.

Sam presented all the books in front of him. "Alright, so we got the big six right here and that is just enough for you to need to know in print." He picked up one of his journals. "Unless you want to sort out our chicken scratch of handwriting?"

Andrew scoffed. "The Book of Kells is on display at my university and I have taken a couple language courses because genealogy requires it. I think I will take that challenge, especially if it means all these books get out of my sight."

Sam pushed the stack of journals toward his nephew. "I remember that feeling. Trust me, when you get done with school, you learn to like books again."

Andrew took the stack, made his way to the lounge, and set up shop with his computer. If there was one thing Andrew did hate about himself was his terrible handwriting that he had a hard time deciphering at the end of his classes. Hannah joked and said he should have been studying to be a doctor instead. He was a fast typer though. At least four of the nine journals belonged to Sam and Dean. The rest he discovered once belonged to 'The Family'. John Winchester, Bobby Singer, another hunter named Jo Harvelle, and then there was one by a guy named Rufus who didn't bother to leave a last name. As he read them he came to different conclusions about the hunting legacy. Murphy's Law wasn't a joke. His grandfather John was a really shitty dad, especially when it came to Adam (which everyone after 2010 forgot about.) Ms. Harvelle died young, but he really would have like to meet her. Bobby Singer had a method to his madness of notetaking and detail that would make scientists blush. Rufus swallowed stuff and had a bit of sass. Aside from killing things and possible insanity, they were amazing people who gave their lives for people who didn't know they existed and never would. As far as Sam and Dean's journals went, Sam was far more calculated about his discoveries and made sure every detail about a creature was there. Dean's journals were no nonsense and blunt. Here was the creature, this is how you protected yourself and killed the thing. Andrew liked that sort of thought process; quick and to the point.

It was nearly noon when he finished three journals and felt that he had enough to justify taking a break. Dean walked in just as Andrew closed John's journal. "You wanna get some food?"

/ / /

Dean had chosen a greasy spoon in the next town over which Andrew didn't understand why when Lebanon had their own. "So you drove me over to the town just to get food? I thought you were the practical one," Andrew stated.

Dean put down his coffee, "It's your first real meal in The States, kid. I just want to make you get off to a good start and they have some really good pecan pie here."

"You do realize we have things like this in Ireland right?"

"Well, yeah, but just trust me one this one." They were served and the conversation progressed with more small talk, like two polite strangers stuck in an elevator together. "So tell me about Hannah."

Andrew was caught off guard. He tried to keep Hannah out of his business, especially with the newfound legacy of loved ones getting hurt. "Why do you want to know?"

Dean shrugged, "A little social media stalking and I have to say, she seems a little too good for you. Then again, you definitely inherited my good looks. How'd you two happen?"

Andrew recounted, "I met her at course registration a few years ago. We didn't hit it off like you think. She and I were fighting over the last spot in a required English class, then we kept bumping into each other around campus, then we met up at this place called O'Donohughes. The rest is history."

"Sounds cheesey."

"We know. So what about you?"

"No, we are talking about you," Dean tried to reflect.

"Just give me one thing. I started to read yours and Sam's journals today and I get the family motive and all but as you guys got older it got a little personal. I mean, Sam lost Jessica so that's why he got back into hunting. You on the other hand, people recount you as the great womanizer, but then you stopped writing for about a year with a few mentions after that about woman and her child."

Dean knew where he was getting at. It had been years since he heard their names. He remembered telling Sam that if he ever mentioned their names to Dean again he was going to break his brother's nose. Dean never truly forgot them, but thinking about them was worse that opening up old wounds.

"What happened to them, Dean?" Andrew asked.

Dean replied lowly, "I did what I had to, to protect them from me."

Andrew didn't like vagueness, "Did they…"

"No. No, thank god."

He could sense that his father was mildly distressed about the thought of pursing the conversation and quit asking questions.

/ / /

Andrew returned to the bunker and checked his watch. It was almost midnight for Hannah and if he didn't send her a message now she would freak out. He quickly opened Skype and was greeted with a worrisome girlfriend at the other end. Her hair was pulled back, which he suggested last year to keep her from twirling her long brown hair, which is what she did when she was nervous. He started, "I'm sorry, I just lost track of time-"

Hannah shook her head, "No, no, you're fine. I would have been happy with an email. It's just something else. Freaky little things, ya know."

With Andrew's new knowledge of the supernatural, he was concerned, but he put on his poker face. If Hannah knew what he knew, they both could be in trouble. For her there could just be safety in not knowing. "Like what?" he asked.

"I don't know," she replied. "Sometimes when I am on campus or on my way home I feel like I'm being watched, even on my route home."

"You're probably just paranoid," he lied.

"Probably. Oh did you see what happened on campus?"

Well that got his attention. "No."

"The school sent an email about it and it was in the papers. Another student was found dead in his apartment. No one knows why." Andrew opened a new window tab on his screen and opened the email. It was the biggest news story alright. He never knew the kid and the police were looking into the death. Hannah kept on talking, "They haven't made any ruling whether it was suicide or murder yet, but they canceled courses tomorrow for mourning I guess. I'm thinking about leaving and going to visit mum."

Andrew shook his head, trying to stay subtle. "No, you're fine where you are. Just stay at home, lock the doors, catch up on homework until this thin blows over. And will you keep me up to date, please?"

Hannah nodded, "Yeah. I can do that. Are you sure you're fine?"

Andrew lied, "Yes. I'm fine. Just relax, quit letting your crazy huge brain get the best of you."

Hannah quirked a smile, "Smart ass." And she turned off at her end of the call.

Andrew lied to her. But he lied to protect her. Now he was worried about how long he was going to keep this up. He hoped that whatever it was out there it was going after her. He hoped she didn't get too curious. Now he learned that avoiding the paranormal, because he knew what it was, was going to be harder than he thought. Hunting started to look like an option.

/ / /

Dean taught his son all he could about basic weapons and defenses. The first thing Andrew learned was the importance of salt and holy water. They were both grateful that Andrew owned a decent amount of silver at his apartment and so did Hannah. They began to procure online as well as through Dean's connections to have specific knives and blades mailed to Andrew's address after he returned home. "Nothing to worry about," Dean assured. "But it is better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it."

The next thing Dean brought up was the traps and banishing sigils. They discussed how to maintain them in his flat without Hannah finding out. Under rugs and under beds, under floormats. At this point in the conversation Andrew didn't care about getting the deposit back. The anti-possession tattoo was a different discussion entirely.

"I can't really hide that from my family so it's not going to happen," he said.

"This isn't up for discussion. You're getting one."

"Then how do I explain _that_?"

"Just trust me. We'll make something up, but before you go back you will be getting one."

"And what makes you think I may get possessed? I mean, really!"

Dean stood up and folded his arms across his chest. "Your uncle was possessed once. So was your grandfather, Bobby, and even I was a demon for a while. Trust me, Andrew. When they get in you, even the strongest people are weak. Knowing our history with Hell, you will be getting one."

Andrew knew he lost that fight and reluctantly accepted the tattoo requirement. Dean left the room to make an appointment for Andrew the next day to get inked.

He wanted to ask about protection from angels. He knew from the journals that Angels were pricks. He met a fairly awkward yet threatening one that claimed he watched over him since his youth, and he knew that Sam and Dean were protected by carvings on their ribs, but they never said anything to him about getting that done. Maybe Dean knew about Castiel visiting last night? Maybe they were actually something worth having close by if they weren't going to push going through what he assumed was a painful process. How did they even get that done without dying. he thought to himself.

Andrew walked out of the room and out the door for some fresh air. There was a lot to take in after two days. There would be more to take in later. A few more journals to go, a few more lessons in weaponry, and a lot of brushing up on his latin. His watch read eleven. Now it was as good as ever to catch some sleep before carrying on the next day, or so he hoped.

**This was a lame chapter. I'm sorry.**


	6. Chapter 6

Andrew stared at the backside of his reflection in the mirror in both awe and shame. Getting the anti-possession symbol permanently inked into his skin wasn't something he saw himself doing, in fact if he was going to get any artwork done it was going to be People Are Strange from The Doors somewhere around the base of his neck. Dean made up a story for him so he could explain to his friends and family back home if they ever saw it; a typical drunken night overseas and not a lot of forethought. Andrew chose his left shoulder blade, being right-handed and so the sight of it wouldn't insult him in the morning. Dean had explained on their way home in the Impala why he needed to have it done. He told him the story about Sam being possessed but he kept the part of his life where he was a Knight out of the conversation. Andrew conceded albeit reluctantly as he explained why he really was against it to begin with.

For Andrew, it was like a scar that would never ever fade. In less than a week he learned that part of his heritage was chuck full of hunting and death. All those things that only existed in books and lore existed in real life. Innocence was gone. Andrew would have rather been told then maybe, just maybe, forget about it later. Memories can fade, but now with that pentagram seeping into his skin he would be forced to remember. He hated keeping secrets, especially from his mother and Hannah, and normally he would spill the beans when he couldn't bear it. Now he didn't have a choice. Tell them and they will be forever changed. Dean told him later that the Winchester's had a hard time keeping secrets for which Sam gave him the bird.

/ / /

Sam paced when he made phone calls, even if it was with someone he was at complete ease. When it came to business though he made the bunker his own goddamn catwalk. It drove Dean nuts when he did that. Andrew was off in his own little world, quietly copying old journals into his computer while listening to Imagine Dragons or something leaving Dean to eavesdrop on his little brother.

As they got older and Garth moved on to spending more time with his new family they picked up the slack for hunts and lore. They were getting older anyway and they couldn't do everything. There was a new generation of hunters now that could use cases that as their younger selves would finish in a few days; perfect for getting their feet wet.

Dean caught the word djinn and followed Sam to the map room. By the time he got there Sam had hung up. "So what was that all about?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged, "I had a few calls about signs of djinn in Nebraska from a few hunters passing through."

"And none of them could stop to take care of it?" Dean hated it when people ignored the signs.

"Everyone has their own hunts," he shrugged. "You want them to drop 'em too? 'Sides I got some people on it. Took a little arm twisting since they're in Maine right now so we kind of owe them later."

Dean sighed, "Alright, who do you got working it?"

"Aiden and Krissi."

"Fuck, really? They're together but not _together together. _Still?"

Sam nodded, "Yep."

"This is ridiculous. Either she is dense or he really needs to get schooled on making a move to get him out of this perpetual friendzone."

"Dude, while I'm still with you on that, like I have been for the last decade, that's not really why I have them shaggin' ass from Maine."

"I was gonna say, we could have done it."

"Yeah but with everything going on, now with Andrew and the fact you still don't have total use of your hand, I don't think going on a hunt is the greatest idea. We can't just leave him here."

"Right." Dean knew Sam was right. Sure his son was a grown man, but now things were different with him. It was like it was with Ben all those years ago. No one would be around to protect him in case something got into the bunker. There was also the possibility that he could uncover things that were meant to stay covered. He didn't know the fine details of where he was at the moment being technically a tourist, but Dean was starting to itch for a small hunt. "Look man, we have to do something with this kid. He hasn't booked a flight yet and he still has two and a half more weeks."

"_We_? I'm sorry but he is your son so you figure it out. You have experience with kids."

"Ben was different and you know that. This is a grown-up."

"Well, we both know you are an expert at grown-up things."

Dean got Sam's hint and he left the room.

/ / /

If there was one thing Andrew didn't want to deal with tonight it was a lot of prodding questions from strangers. While he was thrilled to go out and experience the Midwest Nightlife, he knew it was going to be hard to lie low being a foreigner. Dean gave him a few pointers here and there while Sam hung back making fun of said pointers. Andrew chose to stay quiet as much as he could since his accent was the main attraction. In the matter of an hour he had acquired three phone numbers from strange women and had a nasty taste of Patriotism from the local redneck: it was something along the lines of, "Git outta here, tater. This is 'Merica."

The bar was so different from his haunts back home. It was seedy, dark, and loud. It was cramped for a Thursday night too. And he thought Temple back in Dublin was a raucous place. Andrew preferred to drink his alcohol quietly, sitting down, surrounded by friends, and being able to hold a conversation that didn't have to be conveyed via yelling.

At least he could relax when he was around Dean. It was like being around The Winchesters was like having his own secret service. The beer they ordered was satisfactory by his standards, but then again he worked warehouse for Guinness during school breaks. Hannah joked that he liked his beer like he liked his coffee, darker than Satan's armpit.

"So what do you think?" Dean asked.

Andrew looked around, "It's very loud."

"Sad part is that this is considered a quiet night," Sam smirked.

"What you guys are frequent flyers?"

"For a while. It's a small town afterall."

Andrew nodded and took another drink. It was definitely an interesting setting to be in. A few things were different. Televisions played American football instead of the races, food was definitely greasier than he would like, and the people were a bit surly. Two things were the same as they were back home, beer, and the cue sports.

From the look of it, it definitely wasn't snooker as he grew accustomed to. Actually, he was more well-versed in the game to the point of playing for cash. He looked at Dean, "So what exactly are they playing over there?"

Dean stared at him like he was asking a stupid question, "It's called pool."

"Right, but _what_ are they playing?"

Sam asked, "Are we going to have to compare this to some irish thing?"

Andrew rolled his eyes, "Yeah, over there we play snooker, but this isn't it."

Whilst Sam researched the game on his phone Dean got up and brought Andrew along toward the table where a few guys were playing. He briefly explained the game and Andrew listened very carefully. It was a little simpler than snooker. It was more of a race to see who could finish first rather than adding up points. "Seems simple enough," he said.

Dean smirked, "Sure, it's simple, but to win is an art."

Andrew huffed, "Is that a challenge?" He picked up the cue from the wall rack.

Dean did the same and racked the balls together. "Why not?" He obliged and through a quick best-out-of-three round of rock-paper-scissors (which he lost) gave the first turn to Andrew.

Andrew was stripes and Dean was solids. Sam watched from afar and saw the game go down in his nephew's favor. It was uncommon for Dean to lose, but it was out of the ordinary for him to lose after a few turns. His nephew picked his turns carefully with outcomes that sinked at least three in the pockets. Dean not being one to go down easily challenged his son again and again, adding low grade stakes such as pitchers of beer, the tab, and then his plane ticket back to Dublin. When that failed and Dean lost that round it changed to making Andrew's flight direct, no layovers. That was going to cost him some serious money, but it wasn't like he couldn't cook up some cash fast via Charlie's flawless hacking.

The next game caught the local bar fly's attention. He watched as Dean failed against the young foreigner and called the next game on him. Andrew obliged the request with a small monetary challenge. Dean being a father should have said no, but he was a little too interested in his son's talent. After a round Andrew was twenty dollars richer. Then there was another challenger who doubled the cash up front.

Dean settled in the back corner with a beer in his hand, watched with uneasiness as his play the game with calculated ease and rightfully earned swagger in his step. Andrew didn't talk much when he played, so opposite of Dean who's charm in the past got him into trouble. Andrew did his talking in the with the cue. After another challenge there was a small crowd hovering to watch. By now Andrew was up two hundred bucks and was close to calling it a night. While most were fairly respectful of him denying another game, he couldn't quite escape the racist redneck. "Hey you!" he bellowed from the back. "You think you can just waltz right into this great country and take our money?" This guy was incredibly drunk, but he was persistant. Dean stepped forward to get Andrew out of the path of destruction, but he insisted that Dean stayed back.

Andrew didn't tolerate ignorance and his tactic to shut it down involved words. Probably doesn't know how to use those, he mused with himself. "It wasn't like it was yours anyway. Last I checked you still owe money to China." The bar room didn't give any response to that remark. Dean was a bit floored that he had the balls to say that. Kudos to being brave.

"All you people think you're better than us," The Redneck continued. "But we own your ass in sports."

Andrew scoffed, "While that might be true, the only time we meet is for the Olympics. That happens every two years. You got us as far as brawn, but we have owned your ass as far as brains go."

"We speak English here, buddy, quiet that mouth of yours." Now The Redneck was pissed. He picked up the cue and Dean tensed up. He knew from previous experience what kind of damage a pool cue could do.

Andrew laughed, "I think you need to get your definition of English edited. Besides the theory of language is native to the Common Wealth."

"Smart ass."

Dean looked around for Sam and saw him still staring at his phone. "Are you serious?" he muttered.

"So what do you really want?" Andrew taunted.

"Your ass on this stick, Tater," he snarled.

"It's potato. If you're going to insult me, at least be intelligent about it."

Andrew knew he had the game in the bag. The Redneck was wobbly on his feet and too quick with anger that he overshot his call, missing the hole entirely. Someone must have ordered him another beer because he chugged one before making a call. It was a nail in the coffin to which Andrew took the game to hammer it shut. He ended it in four turns, and thankfully The Redneck passed out on the table before he could muster the slurred words to argue.

He hung up the cue and took out his cash, holding it up in the air, "Beer on me for all my challengers." The bar chorused in hoorahs. "Mostly because you all had much more class than this bloke." That only garnered a few laughs. He only watched a quarter of his earnings vanish when Dean walked up behind him slapping a hand on his shoulder, "You kid are a savant. It kind of scared me back there."

"It's just snooker for dumbies. Didn't take any kind of skill to win the cash."

They walked back to the table where Sam was still sitting and waiting. Dean continued, "Yeah, but I wasn't even twenty-two before I started to bring home the lettuce."

Sam chuckled overhearing the conversation, "Geez, way to make us look old."

He sat down gesturing to his son, "Yeah but for that kind of skill it has to be taught." He looked at his son who was finishing his beer from an hour earlier. "Where'd you learn to play like that?"

He shrugged, "Mum was with this guy for a while when I was barely in my teens. He played for World's back then and taught me a thing or two. Mum was pissed. She calls it a pub sport that is only glorified gambling if you will. Truth is, it was how I secretly made any extra cash."

Dean sighed, "Well, we're certainly no strangers to doing that."

Andrew continued, "I did it for a summer when she was between jobs, just to bring in some money, and as far as she knows I had a summer gig in the country that year. When classes got too heavy to have steady work I pulled a few late nights and it paid the rent. Now I do it just to set aside for rainy days, and for funding my search for you."

"So what now?" Sam asked. "Using that to pay for a tourist excursion?"

"Fuck no," Andrew laughed. He looked down at his hands trying to think of a good way to tell them. He had only told his mother so far and asked Hannah's father for his blessing. "I'm making payments on a ring."

"A ring," Dean echoed. "Are you serious?"

"Why do you think I have been apprehensive about learning the family legacy," Andrew answered.

Sam interrupted seeing his brother tense up, "No that's great. I mean, congrats for when you do it."

Dean still hadn't said a word yet. It was a shock yes, but it wasn't like he felt a right to advise him. He only knew Andrew existed a few days ago.

Andrew could tell that it probably wasn't the most prudent thing to talk about and tried to jump the conversation ship. He was having a good time with his father and then suddenly they were back to that awkward square one. He pulled out his phone and saw that he had a few voicemails and texts from Hannah. "Dammit," he grumbled. He almost forgot to call her. She would be getting ready for class right now. "I'm going to step out for a bit," he declared. The brother's didn't stop him.

/ / /

Early spring air was still frigid at night, but it was a sweet relief from the stuffy, hot, and loud bar. He read the texts first, mostly questions about when Hannah would expect a call. There was one update text from her about the dead student which was ruled murder, still no leads though. That last one had him fumbling to open his voicemail.

_Hey, I was just checking in to see you were okay and that you were having a good time._

_Andrew it is three in the afternoon out here and I know you should be awake over there. Give me a call, I need to talk to you about that murder vic._

_Andrew Harris McDaniel, you need to come home. There is something going on….._

That last line turned to static. "Fuck," he growled, hastily dialing Hannah's number. Straight to voicemail. That wasn't like her. She was attached to her iPhone 12. She doesn't let anything go to voicemail unless it was work. She usually just pressed ignored and sent a text. Something was wrong and Andrew was freaking out. He tried her number again, but before he could utter a word he felt something strike him in the back of his head and the last thing he was aware of was the cold asphalt against his face.

**Finally, I am at a place where this thing is going to keep moving. This might also get really long too. I had a lot of downtime at work and extra receipt tape (aka story note magic parchment). Details, darlings, details. Let me know what you think. I'm also open to suggestions because you guys are filled with cool ideas and I love to hear them. As for another update, uuuhhhh, maybe when I get a day off from these sixty-hour work weeks. Cross you fingers.**


	7. Chapter 7

Sunday through Thurday the bar closed down by midnight. Per the usual the establishment played that old Semisonic song that Dean couldn't stand. At that point Andrew had been gone for fifteen minutes. They gathered up their jackets and made way for the exit. "Alright, we'll grab him and head back to the bunker, check in with Krissi and Aiden on their hunt, call it a night?" Dean said.

Sam nodded, "No arguing with that. They're probably just about there by now."

They stepped outside with all the other patrons and watched karma work her charm on The Redneck being, quite literally tossed out the door. As people caught their respective rides and the parking lot emptied they realized they were alone. "Where's Andrew?" Sam.

Dean looked around, "Not anywhere we can see." He stepped away to the other side of the bar. He knew full well that he was probably talking to his significant other and had sought out a quiet corner in order to do so.

Sam did a full scope of the area from the Impala and didn't see anything. Dean returned with nothing. Now they were on full-alert and Dean was getting anxious. He whipped out his phone, to which Sam chuckled, "Traded numbers already?"

Dean dialed, "You could say that." The phone rang and they both heard the tone from the dark beyond the lot light. There was no one there. "Oh no." He jogged to the location of the phone only to see it ground, screen cracked. "Fuck!"

/ / /

The first thing he was aware of was that he on the floor of something moving. His head was hurting and his hands and feet were bound. Vision was out of focus as well. This was something he only expected to happen in movies. That idea pissed him off, because those things gloss over the pain part and made head injury seem like a fight over the comfort of shutting down, not fighting pain. He knew he didn't want to move.

He wanted to shut down for a moment, like his head and body wanted him to. Sleep sounded like a good option right now, but he had to think. This was serious. Andrew had to think really hard to what Dean had taught him. The first part was to stay alive. The second part was to stay calm and take in your surroundings. Andrew knew he was in a vehicle of some kind and it was dark. He couldn't see a damn thing. Maybe that was the blurred vision? Third was to take stock his body. The pain was a hint. Moving sucked so he stayed still. Fourth, look at your safe options. He was going to stay as still as possible, essentially play dead. It could help him get out of this mess.

Now he had four things to go on, but the first part was getting hard to do. Succumbing to the darkness and away from the throbbing in the back of his head was what he wanted to do. He would fight later. The last thing he was aware of before closing his eyes was a flash of blue eyes in the darkness coming right up to his face.

/ / /

The brothers returned to the bunker with a fierce purpose, Andrew's phone in Sam's hand, and Dean trying to get a hold of Charlie to hack into the bar's outside surveillance. She said it wouldn't take him long and didn't want or need any other explanation. Anything for her brothers, really.

Sam was already in the map room making notes and lists of possibilities. He had a few ideas of what it couldn't be, and one that for sure it wasn't, but Andrew was the newest development in their lives. News didn't travel that fast. Dean was outside trying to call Cas down, seeing if Angels had anything to do with it.

They knew there was foul play for sure. His son got jumped and they took him somewhere. Dean entered the bunker pissed.

"Cas have any ideas?" Sam asked.

Dean shot him a death glare, "Cas ain't answering right now." He looked down at the maps and theories Sam had drawn up in haste. "What do you think took him?"

"Not a ghost, not a monster or there would have been blood…" He could see that Dean was uneasy about that thought. There was no evidence left behind of what happened. For all he knew, his son could be getting tortured right now, or worse being painfully slow. "Look we don't know anything until Charlie calls, so we just need to keep an even keel."

"Easier said than done!" he snapped. Realizing what he said he toned it down some, "We shouldn't have stayed here, Sammy. We should have moved out of here years ago and stayed out of the radar and none of this would have happened. He wouldn't have found us."

While this was all true there was nothing they could do about it now. "We'll find him, Dean."

Sam's phone buzzed from the middle of the table. It was Charlie and he put the call on speaker. "What do you got, Charlie?" Dean asked.

"Okay, just to update, that bar has really shitty firewalls, didn't take me long at all but after sifting through a few hours of footage with some magic I found the six and half minutes that had your person of interest. I'm sending you the footage right now, Dean, so check your phone." This was business Charlie; less joking and more working. They came to rely on her more and more as their presence in Lebanon made it a little harder to put on the FBI monkey suits. If they really needed something, Charlie could provide.

Dean picked up his phone and opened the file that she sent them. The video was six and a half minutes too long for his taste. It began with Andrew looking through his phone under the light. He looked like he was making a phone call when out of the darkest corner, really fast, a hooded figure took a two-by-four to the back of his son's head. Andrew then dropped to the ground. After a minute of dragging him across the lot a white van showed up in the peripheral and the hooded figure jumped in the back, dragging Andrew's unconscious form in with him. That's when he saw his son's phone drop, the doors close, the flash in the hooded one's eyes.

Dean tossed his phone to Sam who watched the video as well. "Charlie, could you get a trace on the van?" he asked.

"Already ahead of you guys. I didn't have much as far as digits and letters but the plates were from Nebraska, but the plates don't belong to a white van." She continued, "The van is from Ohio."

"Then what do you figure?" Sam asked.

"Someone jacked the van, then stole the plates, then they made their way here."

Dean shook his head, "There are too many possibilities for us to find him, how the hell are we going to narrow that down."

"Chill dudes, when have I let you down? I just ran the details through my own resources and there has been only one plumber van stolen in the week and the plates were reported. The van belonged to a cleaner service on the outskirts of Napoleon, Ohio."

"And no one there has said anything there?"

"From what I gather, it's a red county and the cleaners are in the process of being sold, so perfect place to hide out, right? Full of skeptics and an empty building for sale."

Dean nodded, "Alright so the theories narrow down to four things, demons, angels, witches, and djinn. Awesome."

"At least you have a location, but you might want to hurry some because even with fifteen minutes jumpstart you already lost a few hours." She sighed, "Good lucks guys." And she hung up.

Dean huffed, "Alright, I don't think we have pissed off any witches in the past year. Haven't seen any Angel activity other than Cas being Cas. Also haven't seen any demon activity in the last week, which was odd already. Krissi and Aiden are on the djinn case…"

"Or maybe they aren't right now," Sam interrupted. He turned the phone toward his brother and had the frame zoomed up to the person of interest's hands. "Know any angel or demon with those kind of tattoos?"

Definitely a djinn. "Fuck."

Then they both started packing, leaving Andrew's phone behind on the table. It was the last thing they had on their mind in the moment.

/ / /

Andrew was a little more alert when he came to the second time. The pain was dull now which was a little bit of a relief, but he was still bound by his hands and feet. His jacket was missing and so were his shoes. The jacket he gets, but seriously, shoes? As more awareness came he took more stock of his situation. He was someplace dark with the scent of industrial laundry detergent in the air and, what that dead flesh? He was tied and chained down to a chair which was tilted back. Andrew could feel a presence in the room and continued to play the deadfish in the room. He would get his moment.

He heard some whispers in the dark, "They said just to keep them distracted long until they said we could let him go."

Another voice said, "Why should they get all the fun?" It was a harsh whisper. "They get what they want either way, we should just finish it right now. We have enough power we can finish them all, do it our way."

"That wasn't part of the deal!" the first one said.

"Screw the deal! They wouldn't be in this position if their boss had just done them in years ago, but nooo."

He heard a slap. So thing one and thing two disagree on a sales transation, Andrew thought. The presence, he could see through the slits in his eyes was a guy with tattoos on his face with luminescent eyes, crowded over top his face. He had a vial of something just as bright and shiny. Oh hell no. Andrew had to fight with what he had. The person in question reacted to Andrew's sudden movement and summoned thing two. "Hold him down while I get this in him," it snarled. Thing two forced his weight on Andrew's chest with one hand and the other on top of his face. The weight was incredible considering he wasn't completely on top of him. He had no training on these situations, but he saw something like this happen on that zombie show from when he was seven. Andrew bit the hand. He bit down on the web and didn't let go. Thing Two yelped in pain, but Andrew was going to make him think. More than likely they took him because of his relation to The Winchesters, but no one messed with them because they were still alive. He was going to make them think hard on who they were messing with, embracing his legacy for a moment. Andrew could taste the blood and then he released Thing Two, spitting out the red bile. "Fuck you," he slurred. He relished in Thing Two's reaction for a second before he felt the pinch in his left arm.

Before he felt the tug to sleep, he saw the shiny liquid being pushed into his arm. All was dark for about two seconds, then he was off into his earliest nightmare. His first actually, from when he was a kid. There stood Judge Doom and he looked around and saw his world being happy and literally animated. Then game the rush of green acid and he ran.

**I thought I would get this in before I went off to work. This next week is going to kill me, but I did have an interview today so it's starting on a decent note. I hope you guys got the Who Framed Roger Rabbit reference, or I am going to feel soo old.**


	8. Chapter 8

The GPS on Sam's phone had them arriving to Napoleon in thirteen hours, but Dean liked to call those estimates a challenge. Tonight it was just a ticking clock, a timer, on how far behind they were, how long Andrew had been held captive, and how every second passed he could be dying for all they knew. There wasn't much Sam could do in the passenger seat. He hadn't seen Dean in such a state of urgency in since he lay dying in the mud after failing to finish the trials. That freaked him out a little.

Dean hated feeling useless as he was now. All he could do was drive as fast as he could. They were somewhere in Missouri and the sun was rising. They had wasted a few hours at the bunker packing and gathering as much intel as possible before loading up the Impala and making their mad dash across four states. Now they were both here, feeling useless.

Tired of not being able to do anything, Sam pulled out his phone from his pocket and a notepad from the glove box. He wrote down all the names from the hunters who had contacted him about the djinn activity including Krissy and Aiden. Dean looked over at his brother while they were at a stop light shortly after, "What are you doing?"

Sam talked as he wrote, "The djinn activities that we were informed of were all in Northwestern Nebraska. Don't you think Napoleon and that are a little out of the way of each other, and now that I'm thinking about it, the calls from hunters passing by? A little too coincidental."

"So what?" Dean asked.

"I'm calling up those guys, then going to do a follow up with Krissy which, if this what I think it is, we are going to seriously owe her one."

Sam dialed the first number on his list.

/ / /

_Andrew fought through his nightmare. He fought through The Dip even though it was burning his animated self. He was going to swim his half burned body back to any shore line, expect where Judge Doom stood. _

_He hadn't had this nightmare since he was a kid. Why was he having it now? He fought though. He knew something in the outside world was wrong. The shore was getting farther and farther away and he was getting exhausted. He knew that if you died in your dream you died in real life, or something like that Nolan movie his mom loved said. He had to wake up right now. The shore looked like reality, just a big, dark looking wall. He swam to it and held his hand out as far as he could to touch it._

His eyelids slowly pulled themselves apart. He was aware that he was still in that chair, but he was grasping the arm of it something fierce, like breaking-his-fingernails-in-half fierce. He became of that pain along with the dullness of others. Andrew was also painfully aware that he was freezing. His head was still pounding, but he raised it anyway. His vision was a little clearer now. Why there was a dental chair in the dilapidated warehouse he would never know. That was something for those cheesy torture, horror movies. He got a good look around the place and saw that he was alone. There were a few holes of light from the roof, blacked out windows which a few were broken, and then a slit of vertical light coming from the far end of the building. That would explain the cold. His restraints were a little loose, probably from him thrashing in his nightmare, and he took that opportunity to pull his right hand free. It hurt to do so but such was the price. Andrew would do that later. Once his right hand was free he then unleased his left, which allowed him to pulled the needle and line from his arm and free his legs. Slowly he stood up, slightly regretting it but he pressed on toward the light.

Andrew didn't have a clue what he was doing, he was working on basic instinct. That was something John's journals preached, follow your instincts. The first thing was to get free and get out, find help. He hoped there was someone within walking distance, if not he was probably going to have to hoof it, probably run if he had to. At least it was daylight. Step by painful step on numb feet he made his way to the door, panting the whole way. It was a struggle to breath, like something wasn't allowing him to take a full breath, but that would be fixed later.

He was within a few feet of the door, a few feet away from freedom, and the door opened from the outside. It was Thing One and Thing Two, who both looked surprised and pissed. Thing One didn't say a word, but rushed Andrew. Thing One landed a blow to Andrew's stomach knocking him down completely to his knees, coughing up some kind of liquid. "You guys," he wheezed, "You both suck." Thing Two yanked Andrew up from the ground, feet dangling, up by his neck. Thing Two with his luminescent eyes growled, "Looks like we are gonna have to up the ante."

Thing Two dropped Andrew with a little force to put him down hard. Thing One grabbed him by his arms, too weak to fight back now, and dragged him across the floors. Thing Two followed behind and spit, "You play football, kid, 'cause there are still three quarters left." Thing One grabbed Andrew's hands and raised them above his head, though he was fighting to keep them down. Thing Two threw a punch to the left side of Andrew's face nearly knocking him out.

Think One took his hands and tied them tight. Andrew was aware that he was being raised up from the ground and felt the stress on his wrists, but not aware enough to cry out in pain which it obviously caused him. It was hard enough to breath already.

Thing Two looked Andrew in his half-closed eyes, "The hanging is for the added effect, kiddo."

What did that even mean, he thought. It didn't matter though. His eyes closed and he was underwater.

/ / /

"Okay, sorry for sending you on that wild goose chase," Sam hung up his phone. He had an earful of a profanity-laced, one-sided conversation from Krissy about how she hated having her time wasted.

Dean had heard every phone call and was getting pissed at what he was hearing and what they had both concluded.

They. Got. Punked.

They got the runaround, conned, and by god they were paying for it. They weren't on their game and it resulted in Andrew getting kidnapped.

"The moment we land in Napoleon, I'm kicking ass," he grumbled,

"As you should and I will assist," Sam added. "I should have looked into that case better."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Sam, now is not the time or place to even think about blaming yourself. We both got shafted, and if anything, I should be more pissed! They took my son, dammit!"

"Okay, that isn't helping, since he's my nephew as well."

"Well, we have to deal with this somehow, so right now, I win."

That didn't make any sense to Sam, "What?"

"I don't know," Dean replied. He paused before asking, "So do we have any theories for why djinn are fucking targeting us again?"

Sam shook his head, "I got nothing. We haven't been on a djinn case in over two year and they had no mates as far as I knew."

"Well that's comforting."

It was almost nine in the morning now, and they had just crossed the Illinois-Indiana state line.

/ / /

_He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He fought for the surface, but he wasn't getting any closer. He wasn't going down either. It was like he was bobbing in the water, he thrashed in the water, fighting whatever kept him there. This was his nightmare after he had nearly drowning in his teens, on a family trip to the lake house his grandparent's had rented not far from Kilkenny. It was enough to scare him, that was for sure, but now he was terrified. _

_He fought, he swam, he went up and down looking for anyway out. He knew he was spending too much energy doing so, but he had to try something. This nightmare was felt all too real. He stopped what he was doing and floated for a moment. He tried hard to remember why he was even physically exhausted at the moment._

_He was hanging in the middle of everything in the real world. People moved in their sleep. He wasn't going to go down like this. They had to keep him alive for something._

_He stopped fighting._

"Get him down now!" he heard from Thing One. Andrew started to come to as he felt the tug on his wrists and something lift him up by his waist. "Check him, 'cause if he dies, we're done."

Andrew was more or less coherent enough but enough to form a makeshift plan. They obviously can't kill him, so that was in his favor. As much as he hated his nightmares and wanted to fight them with all he had, it was better to give in; it got him out of them faster since his nightmares were mostly about scary ways to go into demise.

He was aware that he was horizontal now on the cold concrete floor. He still had the same old injuries from before but now he added some serious arm and shoulder strain from being hung by his wrists. If he was going to survive this he had to play along. Dean would find him, hopefully.

"What is his temperature?" Thing Two asked.

Andrew felt a cold hand press against his forehead. It was icy to the touch, but he did feel warm. Probably his body fighting this torture, he assured himself.

"A few more degrees and he will be gone," Thing One said.

"Let's keep him there for another hour, after that we'll dose him up again, for maintenance."

Thank you, Andrew wanted to say. They granted him a little bit of mercy. He could hear them move about him as he lay there on the ground. Andrew was more aware of what was happening to his body. Breathing was a lot of work and it was impossible to take a deep breath. They were short and shallow, like something was inside of him keeping him from filling his lungs properly. Everything else was a hazy thought. Definitely a concussion, but there was something else, but darkness was starting to pull him in.

Andrew gave in. This time it was different from the others. He had his own thoughts to keep him company, to keep him somewhat sane. He heard that he was allowed a brief moment to go off in his own secure world in his mind. What was funny was that he was hearing in his head an old 311 song, the one that played during a street fest where he met Hannah. _My name is volatile, I've been this way a long while. I'd surely like to rest but the energy gets the best of me. It's been a wild ride, I wouldn't change a minute. I can't slow down inside, guess that's why I live it._

He cherished this snippet of his lack of lucidity. As far as he knew, he might not get one ever again.

**Sorry it took so long to update. Things have been nuts, per the usual, but then add in OU Homecoming Alumni Festivities I haven't had the mindset to sit down a write. Let me know what you think and throw suggestions at me. You guys keep me going! **


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey all, I got a day off today and I got some stuff done! Yay adulthood! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed this thing especially LeeMarieJack, Lewlou15, ChickieG, and LyleRay who are my frequent flyers!**

Indiana doesn't take a lot of time to cross. They were a few miles from the Indiana-Ohio border and Napoleon would be a half hour from that, at least by how they drive. Dean elected to stop at a crossroad where an empty only barn stood.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked. "I thought we were shagging ass."

Dean parked the car and got out, heading toward the trunk. Sam followed only slightly exasperated about the unexpected side stop. "We are," Dean replied, opening the drunk. "But when we get there we are going to move quick and strike first. Getting there and then loading up still gives them a chance to prepare and fight back." Dean worked on loading his shotgun. Sam was supposed to do the same, but instead reached for a small wooden box he had pushed to the back right corner years ago. He opened it and loaded it into the weapon he created. Dean stopped and watched his little brother work. The weapon of choice was a small dual-mounted crossbow, retro-fitted for automatic firing of delicate artillery. Dean was impressed, but he spent all his life with his little brother, so where did he managed to create such a thing without him knowing. "What the hell is that?" he asked.

Sam started to prepare his ammo when he answered, "Remember that skinwalker two winters ago?"

Dean thought about that, but there wasn't much to remember considering. "Sure, the one that took us both by surprise and the next thing I knew I was in the bunker."

"Yeah, during those two days you were out of it, I got a little creative."

Dean looked into the small box and picked up a hand crafted vial, filled with a viscous black fluid. "This?"

"Djinn poison."

Dean didn't question it and instead took his gun, shoved it under the seat and started the car. Sam followed and did the same, but with another box.

Just as they were about to cross the state line Dean asked, "So how did you get djinn poison?"

"When we moved to the bunker I read that given the right ingredients and spell you can make a poison that basically does what djinn do to humans, but you need djinn blood to do it, kind of like a taste of your own medicine sort of thing." Sam concentrated on the box in front of him, carefully mixing and shaking different vials together.

"And your plan is to shoot them with it after we kill them?" Dean scoffed. "Seems a little counterintuitive."

"That's why the plan is you go in first, take them out, and as a sweet little piece of revenge I shoot them up. It was actually more of a way for us to capture one and use it for study, but," Sam finished and closed the bottle pushing it down into his pocket, "another time."

/ / /

_So naïve, I keep holding on to what I believe. I can see, but I keep holding on and on and on and on._

Andrew was picking songs in his head that correlated to the beat of his heart, which wasn't doing so hot right now, but he was going to make the most of this break from the torture. Nine Inch Nails used to get him pumped when he was an angsty teenager, give him the rush to do what he needed to do. Here was to hoping that it would help him again.

He could feel their presence getting closer to him and heard the gentle jingle of new restraints. They were standing above him, so all it took was the right position and he could have his foot meet with their faces, at least injure them somewhat to give him a fighting chance. He couldn't see very well at the moment now that his right eye had swollen shut. It was going to be a shot in the dark at that point. He jerked his leg upright, but hit nothing. Dammit, he thought.

"Fever is starting to get to him," Thing One said.

"I don't care," Think Two hissed. "We need him dosed up. We got the call from them. They got their part taken care of."

"They got the girl?"

"We can finish him off."

Andrew heard bits and pieces of their phrases, but caught the last sentence loud and clear, and knew he was going to die. He willed his limbs to work and take a swing, to get his legs under him and start running, but every part of him was weak. "You fuckers won't," he mumbled. Then there was that part of him that clinged on to the fact that Dean was probably looking for him. In their journals they seemed to have perfect timing. Maybe, just maybe, he would be saved.

They grabbed his arms and bound them behind his back. They proceeded to drag him across the floor, then propped him up in a chair, tying his feet to the legs. The added touch was putting a bag over his head. Andrew expected a beating, or gunshots, something that showed mercy when compared to what he went through with the past two nightmares, but expectations didn't mean it was going to happen. Cold hands steadied his shaking arm, and he felt the familiar pinch.

He was going to die in his nightmare, which was already scary enough. He was going to die alone.

/ / /

The place was on the outskirts of town, across the street from a busy bowling alley which looked to be closed down for repair. It was the early late afternoon, but early enough people wouldn't be getting off work for a while. It was perfect for a rescue mission.

Sam and Dean got out of the Impala weapons at the ready and they charged the double doors. It took two tries, but they weren't spring chickens anymore. At the end of the day, pride aside, they were going to have to stop for ice. They after the second hit they busted the doors open. The two djinn rushed them, but Dean being the expert marksmen shot one down with ease. Sam incapacitated one to the ground. They may be old, but with age came skill and wisdom. They were still regarded the scariest motherfuckers in the hunting world. Dean took the time after Sam put down his djinn to put a bullet through its leg. Sam then in turn gave shot it just above the heart, his reason being the poison would run through its veins faster. Dean stood over his djinn, which was starting to laugh. "Where is he?" Dean growled, holding the djinn down by its neck.

"It's not going to matter, you can't wake him up," The djinn replied.

"Tell me where he is!" Dean yelled.

The djinn looked over to the dark corner, cueing the brothers to Andrew's location. Dean caught the line of sight and pushed the djinn's head forcefully to the ground. "Take care of this Sam."

He ran to Andrew, who was sitting half up on the chair, bag over his head. Dean cursed at the sight of his son who looked like he went through Fight Club and lost. He had no jacket, no shoes, and he was shivering despite his high temperature. His breathing was short, shallow, and wet. Everything was flashing red danger signs in his mind. He tried to wake him up. "Andrew?" He shook him. "Andrew!"

Sam came up behind Dean and yanked a few hairs off his nephew's head.

"What the hell, Sam?" Dean asked. "Now isn't the time for a spell. He needs help."

"Yeah, and you're going to get him to step one of healing," Sam said pulling the bottle out of his pocket.

"Which is?" Dean asked.

"Not dying," Sam replied, handing Dean the glass bottle.

Dean looked at it and realized exactly what Sam had done. African dream root. What else did Sam have stashed away? He took the bottle and downed it with one swift swallow. Before he could take a breath, Sam pinched the correct pressure point to bring his brother down, and watched his brother fall to a heap on the ground. "Just get there, Dean."

/ / /

_Nothing scared Andrew more than small spaces. Nothing terrified him more than being hurt and alone in a small space. No matter how much he yelled, there wasn't anybody there to hear. He laid on the floor of the white cube of a room, only the blood from his wounds and from his coughing to provide color. He laid in a heap, the pain being too much for him to fight. _

_This was Andrew's worst nightmare that he never had, but the thought terrified him. Dying alone, where no one would ever know or cared, scared him shitless. He called for his mother, he called for Hannah, he called for Sam and Dean, anyone really. No one was coming. Despite that he fought to stay alive. One day someone would find him, see that he fought everything, and give him that respect. _

_His eyes wanted to close, but that meant he would die. No, he thought, not like this. Not far from home, not without saying goodbye at least._

"_Andrew." He thought he heard his name, but he figured it was his mind playing tricks on him. _

"_Andrew, hey!" He felt a hand on his shoulder, which pulled him from his side onto his back. _

_It was Dean. This was a different nightmare, Andrew thought. Dean came to kill him out of his life. he interrupted it, and Dean was going to rectify that. Shit, this was a hell of a way to go._

"_Stay with me kid," Dean said._

_Andrew coughed a little more blood. "Wha-, no. This, no."_

"_I'm going to get you out of here, kid, but you have to work with me. Keep your eyes open for me, okay? Sam is working on a way to bring you out of it."_

"_Kill me please," Andrew mumbled. "Make it stop."_

"_No way, this isn't a way you want to go."_

_Andrew smirked, "Doesn't look…like I have a ton of…options here."_

_Dean pulled of his jacket and placed it over his son, "Just shut up and focus on not dying okay. It's going to be over soon."_

/ / /

Sam was setting up a spell off to the side of Dean and Andrew. He ran back to the car and pulled out his bag, which he hastily packed a few jars of ingredients for a one-size-fits-all consciousness cure. It would easily work for countering the African dream root mix, but it was a risk for Andrew; there wasn't anything in the books that said it would work for Andrew's condition. Charlie wasn't as far gone as he was now. It worked best when put in the victim's blood. He prepped the syringes with careful haste and first injected Andrew, then Dean. He sat back after tossing the used needles to the side and waited. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon."

/ / /

"_Just stay focused on my voice," Dean commanded._

_Andrew tried, he really did, but he was more focused on his breathing. Something was seriously wrong. He could barely keep a breath before he felt something completely block the air and return it to his lips. "I can't breathe," he wheezed._

_Dean was getting frantic now. "I can see that, but you can and you will."_

_He looked around the white space looking for a sign of Sam making progress. This place was sterile and quiet. Dying should at least be peaceful for Andrew if this was going to be the end, but this was far from it. It made him freak out too._

"_C'mon, Sammy," Dean pleaded. "Dammit."_

_Andrew was feeling colder than before which made him shiver even more. "I'm freezing."_

"_Fuck, don't do this to me kid."_

"_Everything under me is cold," he wheezed._

_Dean looked around again for a sign. Something had to be working. There had to be. Unless dying in a dream meant it brought you back to reality, seeing the floor turn dirty and grey gave him some relief. Even if he couldn't save his son, at least he wasn't suffering anymore, but he hoped this meant that whatever spell Sam was using was working and they were being brought back to reality. As the ground turned grey the walls crumbled down as well._

/ / /

Dean came to with Sam shaking him awake. "Dean, thank god," he sighed.

Dean forced himself up with ease and moved straight to Andrew who was more or less coming out of it as well. His eyes were fighting to stay awake. Sam worked on the releasing Andrew's hands while Dean freed his legs. They quickly assessed him and decided to move him, straight to the car, to the nearest hospital. Dean wished more than anything that Cas hadn't left them all those years ago.

They threw Andrew's arms over their shoulders and half-dragged, half-carried him to the doors, and pushed through the doors.

Andrew lost consciousness at the moment the sunlight hit his face. When they reached the car Sam used his free hand to open the back doors. Carefully they laid Andrew down across the back seat. Andrew didn't respond to anything. Dean shook him by his shoulder, "Hey, kid, I need you to stay awake. Wake up now!"

"Dean, we need to get going now," Sam said, jumping in the driver's seat.

Dean was still kneeling at the door. He refused to move until he knew Andrew was alive. He was pulled away, but not towards the direction of the passenger seat. He was pulled back into the empty lot by a familiar face with a trench coat.

**If there were a lot of errors, sorry. I just started going and couldn't stop.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry it is taking so long to update. I had a day off, but then I decided to treat myself to doing what I want (which turns into getting a much needed new hairstyle, lunch date with the fiancé, horsey time, and drinking pumpkin ale on my porch at two in the afternoon.) So here it is.**

Castiel always watched Andrew. The moment he came into existence he made a note to check in on the child of his best friend, even when he left earth to work on the reformation of Heaven. He could never ignore the Winchesters, but with everything going on in the last fourteen years, he had to choose his visits wisely or have all the attention brought to him again. While it was his best intention to stay in touch, especially to answer their prayers in the last few days, it was also his best intention to keep hi friend's out of angel radar and scrutiny. It meant his friends would be safe.

The moment he heard Dean's call for help, he jumped ahead and watched Andrew as closely as he could. The djinn who had Andrew were smart and knew what they were up against; everywhere they went they had angel warding. After furious and secretive searching he watched the building where they kept Dean's son. He couldn't break in, the spells were too strong, but he knew Dean would fix that. They were a team in the past, they could work together again.

The moment Sam and Dean carried Andrew out of the building, bloody and on the fine line between life and death, he swooped in.

He pulled Dean out of the way and immediately laid one hand on Andrew's face and the other on his chest. He was careful about the amount of grace he used, not like he lacked his own, but he the last thing he needed was for there to be attention from Heaven bestowed on the unknowing soul he was saving.

Dean got up and ran toward Cas and Andrew, barely covering his eyes from the light. "Cas!"

Just as quickly as it started it was over and Cas stepped back, happy with his work, and he turned away starting toward the empty parking lot. Dean looked Andrew over and was relieved to see that his son was asleep and everything, physically speaking, was healed.

Sam started toward Castiel. "Hey!" he called. "We called you."

Cas turned around to face Sam. "I heard. Trust me I wasn't ignoring you."

Dean stepped away from his son and with a few strides had Cas by his collar. "If you knew why didn't you do something?!"

Cas did not lose his composure. He was used to this altercation with his hotheaded friend. "The building and van was warded, but I did what I could to follow and wait until such action was taken to release him. His is saved, is he not?"

Dean released him, barely satisfied with the answer. "You could have just sent us a message at least."

Cas nodded, "Yes, but you understand why I didn't. I am trying to keep you both out of the topics of conversation above and I have managed to keep Andrew's presence a secret his whole life."

Catching that last phrase Dean further questioned, "You knew all along about him and you didn't bother to tell me."

Cas smiled thinking back on the time he met Dean and nodded, "If you consider the conditions on how we met and worked in those following years, I thought it would be more prudent to keep that detail out of the equation, for his safety of course."

Dean looked back to his son who was laying very still in the open back seat. "So what's gonna happen to him?" he asked.

Cas sighed, "For the most part he is physically healed. I had to mind how much grace I used on him so it wouldn't draw any attention. He's asleep now, but he will be sore from when they hung him."

"Thank you, really," Sam said.

"I know," Cas answered. "Always willing to bleed for a Winchester, remember?"

And with that he turned around and fluttered away.

/ / /

They collected Andrew into the back seat and traveled at the speed limit back to Lebonon. Dean rode shotgun, anxiously checking over Andrew. It started to worry him later in the evening when they were half way through Illinois Andrew didn't so much as twitch let alone wake up.

After the sun sank to the western horizon, Dean asked Sam to pull over to a place in the middle of nowhere. This was just in case Andrew did wake up in a crazed state he wouldn't bring attention to himself at a busy rest stop. They were a good ways into a field before they stopped. Dean got out first, opening the back door gently nudging Andrew awake. Sam hung around to the trunk breaking out the first aid kit, just in case Ca may have missed something.

Andrew jerked awake at first but slowed as he attempted to stretch, wincing as he felt his arm, shoulder, and back muscles protest.

"You feeling okay, kid?" Dean asked.

Andrew closed his eyes and shook his head. "Far from it."

Dean nodded, "Don't blame you, dude. You were a mess when we got to you."

"Why am I not dead?"

"Guess you have a guardian angel," Dean tried to fib.

Andrew huffed, "Cas, right?"

Dean was surprised that Andrew knew, but if Cas had knew about his son, it wouldn't surprise him if he made an appearance when he was young. "Yeah."

Sam stepped beside his brother, "Hey, you want me to check him out real quick?"

Dean nodded and stepped aside watching his brother methodically probe his son. The assessment was quick given that Cas did most of the work, but it was Andrew who was asking questions. "What all did he do to me?" he asked.

"Well, he healed you, I think that should be enough explanation."

Andrew shook his head, "No, that's not what I meant." He looked up to both his new relatives. "I was there. I felt…everything. There is no way he could undo all that, not by a long shot."

Dean left briefly for the trunk, but Sam listened, not moving. He had a gift for that.

Andrew continued, "I was in my nightmares, my own nightmares, but no, no, no I would wake up and live through more. I remember everything." He paused. "I remember the pain, the panic, and I remember fighting with all I had to not go through it again." He sighed, "I was weak and failed every time."

Dean returned with a bottle of beer to which Andrew just glared at him and Sam in turn gave him his immortal bitch face. "Seriously, Dean."

Dean stood up straight, "Kid, you fought until the very end. I was there."

Andrew took the beer slowly from his hands, shaking as he grasped it, "Yeah, you were. But," he started pointing an accusatory finger at his father, "You weren't there the whole time." He took a pull from the brown bottle, hoping it would steady him. "You were only there at the end of all things. I know you have both been to Hell and all, but I haven't been around this my whole life. This was all a bit much."

Dean knelt down in front of his son. "That doesn't matter anymore. You fought and you won out in the end. From everything we saw, everything I saw, you are not a guy who goes down easy. You are a guy I wouldn't want to be standing in front of in a dark alley, but I can say I would stand beside."

Andrew took another drink. "Are you saying that as a father trying to pass down a legacy?"

Dean stood up looking down at Andrew with a smirk. "I'm saying that as your equal. You're no hunter, but I know that if our paths were to cross again after all this I know we can call on you."

/ / /

The drive back lasted until dawn. They parked the Impala in the garage and they all practically dragged themselves into the main quarter. They all split off, Andrew making a mental note that he needed to book a flight later that day for Sunday. It should give him more time to heal properly so Hannah wouldn't make any assumptions. He stopped halfway, realizing he hadn't spoken to Hannah in the last twenty-four and he was sure he was freaking out by now. He followed the voices of Sam and Dean in the study, bickering about Sam's cataloging system as they placed the sources they left behind.

"I swear you change the system every month," Dean huffed.

"I wouldn't have to if you just put things back where you found them in the first place. It's not a hard concept. That is also what separates us from the animals."

Andrew perked up from the doorway, "Hey have you guys seen my phone?"

Dean turned and pointed to the table, "Yeah, it's laying over there. Don't worry we turned it off while we were gone. Don't think we have a charger for that."

"Thanks," he replied. He picked up his phone promptly turning it on. The screen lit up revealing through various beeps that he had text messages, voicemails, and missed calls, dozens of each as well.

Andrew was never this popular. The texts were mostly from Hannah.

_When are you coming home?_

_Remember that death I told you about? It was murder after all._

_Please come home._

_There is something here and I don't like it._

All of the missed calls were from Hannah as well. He felt awful now. Here she was freaking out and he couldn't call her to tell her everything was going to be fine, come clean about what was really going on to keep her sane. He opened the voicemails.

_Hey I was checking in to see you were okay and that you were having a good time._

_Andrew, it is three in the afternoon out here and you should be awake over. Give me a call, I need to talk to you about that murder vic._

_Andrew Harris McDaniel, you need to come home. There is something going on…_

And the call went to static with sound bites of a struggle.

The brothers must have known what was going on. "Andrew?" Sam asked.

At that moment, everything went cold. "I need to go home right now."

**So yeah, this was a bit rushed, but I want to get started on part two ASAP, which also means I will get to it when I get to it. **


End file.
